Friends with Benefits (1)
The name of the US Arcane Security Agency agent that Delis had ferreted out using Ministry of Magic intelligence was Matthew Wyatt Lewis. I had heard that he was more commonly referred to by his codename, "W," rather than his real name. It was clearly derived from his middle name. If W's real name, affiliation, and rank were to be leaked, it was highly likely that high-ranking Ministry officials—including Delis—would fall under suspicion, given the Ministry's strict security clearance protocols. If she were accused of being a sieve for classified information, she would not only be stripped of her duties, but the Syndicate and I, lurking in her shadow, would also risk exposure. Yet, I accepted Matthew W. Lewis's real name without a shred of hesitation. This was entirely because I already had a half-formed plan of how to present myself right before his eyes. If my strategy worked as intended, "W" wouldn't even dream of negotiating with the Ministry; he would be dragged to our table, dancing entirely to our tune. With the plan established and the target set, there was no reason to delay. Pavel and I headed toward the mansion with considerably lighter hearts. Next, we knocked out the two servants we had chosen as our targets for disguise. Doing the deed in the restroom took less than a minute.
"Should I kill them?"
"No, that would be a bit problematic, even for us."
It wasn't that killing them was impossible. But it certainly wasn't an option worth considering. Why on earth would we slaughter these helpful souls whose identities we were merely borrowing for a brief moment? Leaving a sheepish Pavel behind, I exerted pressure on the two servants using my Charm. I commanded them to hide in a secluded corner of the mansion until the New Year's Eve party ended, and only then slip back to join their colleagues. Alternatively, if I arrived first, they were to follow my instructions—and, most importantly, completely forget they had ever met someone like me. Clutching my throbbing temples, I popped a couple of painkillers and headache pills before changing my clothes. I had heard that the genius who decided on butler and maid outfits as the dress code was none other than that bastard, the designated heir to the Ministry of Magic. Pavel was used to wearing suits anyway, so he looked perfectly fine, but the problem lay with me. The only saving grace was that the maid uniform wasn't overly revealing.
"Well then, have a safe trip, Milady."
"Yes, don't worry about me. Honestly, I'm more worried about you."
I replied to Pavel's concern with a soft chuckle. I didn't need any adjustment period to get used to the job. What was so hard about carrying a tray laden with finger foods and cocktail glasses? All I had to do was wander around and quickly attend to anyone who called for me. There was absolutely nothing difficult about it. Rather than the work itself, the real challenge was suppressing the urge to murder the bastards who occasionally swept their eyes up and down my body. It was also incredibly frustrating that Benjamin Ashford kept summoning me over and over, leaving me with barely any time to quietly observe the venue. Delis had previously compiled a list of the attendees, but actually seeing them with my own eyes was an invaluable opportunity. With every click of my heels as I brought him another cocktail, I could see Benjamin Ashford growing increasingly intoxicated. More than once, the sudden urge to slit his throat right then and there reared its head. However, despite his drunken demeanor, he was highly likely to be internally prepared for a sudden attack at any moment. No matter how skilled a mage I was, I couldn't guarantee unconditional victory in a room like this. There were far too many eyes watching for me to act stealthily, so each time, I could only grit my teeth. Still, I would have plenty of other opportunities. And who knew? Perhaps the Americans would prove useful in my plan to swallow Britain whole. If so, I could just tear Benjamin to shreds when the time came. From what I could see, Matthew W. Lewis's expression whenever he looked at the Ministry's heir was gradually souring. Perhaps the United States was also secretly displeased with the Ministry's choice of successor. But since any overt action would be meddling in another nation's internal affairs, they likely had no choice but to swallow their discontent. I had a feeling I could become very good friends with the Americans. In this case, a relationship where we hid our true intentions and traded mutual benefits. As I navigated the New Year's Eve party, the moment to seize the opportunity I had been waiting for finally arrived. After crossing the hall several times, positioning myself just within Matthew W. Lewis's line of sight, I finally caught the American gesturing to call me over. Gliding toward him with quick, light steps, I asked:
"Would you like a drink, sir?"
"Yes, please."
Taking his empty glass, I naturally turned my body to block Matthew W. Lewis's view of the rest of the room, ensuring the American's attention and focus were entirely locked onto me. I felt his gaze sweep up from my waist, tracing the curves of my body. I was well-accustomed to this kind of scrutiny by now. His eyes lingered briefly on my hair, then swept lightly over his arms and legs. Sensing his gaze finally rising to meet my face, I suppressed a smirk rising to my throat and asked in the most natural tone possible:
"...Aren't you going to take it?"
Our eyes met. No matter how powerful a mage one was, once this much alcohol entered the system, resistance to Charm was bound to dull. It wasn't just resistance to Charm either; overall magical defense weakened under the influence, which was exactly why I was so paranoid about drinking. In any case, the crimson mystic eyes I was born with successfully triggered the magic dormant within them.
"Ah, right. Thank you."
I smiled, subtly slipping a pre-prepared note between the American's fingers.
"Don't mention it. The pleasure is all mine, Matthew Wyatt Lewis."
"...!?"
In an instant, a sharp surge of mana traces erupted. It was a technique equivalent to instantly unleashing one's suppressed magical senses to use mana traces as an omnidirectional radar. It was easiest to understand as a sort of sensory perception. A mage is still a mage, even when dazed, I suppose. But his reaction was far too slow. Though "W" wouldn't have realized it, I had already leisurely crossed the hall and was standing far away from him. The perfectly landed Charm had delayed his reaction by nearly fifteen seconds. If I had combined it with a perception-blocking spell, he might have remained dazed for dozens of seconds... or perhaps even minutes. Of course, with so many mages around, I couldn't test that theory. The number of mages present at the party was even higher than I had anticipated. Given the circumstances, using a perception-blocking spell—which leaves a much more distinct mana trace than Charm—would have been highly problematic. Clink! Amidst the sharp sound of shattering glass, the American frantically looked around, searching for me. But despite his desperate scanning, I had already ascended the stairs and was looking down at his pathetic display from the second-floor balcony. Go ahead, search all you want.
"I've been waiting. You were later than expected, so I was starting to worry."
"That bastard Benjamin Ashford kept holding me up. Since the opportunity presented itself, I wanted to get a good look at the others, too."
Meeting up with Pavel, who had been waiting in a secluded corner of the second floor, I headed back to the restroom where we had changed. Having accomplished our goal, all that was left was to make a clean getaway. We changed back into our original clothes, making sure not to forget to release our "original" friends whom we had stashed away in a dark corner of the mansion. With so many people around, the brief absence of one or two servants wouldn't have drawn much attention anyway. Finally, braving a splitting headache, I used my Charm to thoroughly distort the memories of the two servants before returning to our safehouse with Pavel. Naturally, on our way back, we chose a route that minimized external exposure, taking into account the local traffic conditions based on the information Delis had gathered beforehand. We arrived at our safehouse in Greenwich just before the dawn of the New Year. Watching with a smile as Pavel parked the car and hurried off to the Chief of Intelligence's office, I made my way to my own office, mentally reviewing my encounter with the American over the background noise. How will he react? He didn't seem to notice the Charm at all. Of course, that was merely an inference based on his frantic reaction in the heat of the moment. Once Matthew W. Lewis had a chance to calm down and review the situation, his assessment could easily change. Still, given what I wrote on the note, there's no way he'll find our headquarters. As the BBC News New Year's countdown played in the background, I let my thoughts drift.
A lot had changed in just a few days. The year on the calendar had rolled over, and the country I was staying in had temporarily changed as well. It was now 1998, in Marseille, France. I was busy preparing to receive a guest for the first time since I had seized control of the Syndicate. After all, one couldn't offer mediocre hospitality when hosting an emissary from one of the world's leading magical superpowers. What I had written on the note was a mere two lines. One was the address of a certain casino in Marseille, France. The other was a date and time. Adding verbose warnings like "Come alone" or "The meeting place is heavily guarded," or even setting up complex codes for contact, was amateurish. If you were truly confident, those two lines were more than enough. The other side knew this as well. Sure enough, Matthew Wyatt Lewis—commonly known as W—showed up in Marseille at the exact date and time written on the note. It was the very casino where I had purged the traitors of Marseille and the materialist mages of the Paris Commune, securing absolute dominance over the French turncoats. It was also a casino that had undergone minor internal renovations and successfully reopened after the entirety of France fell back into the Syndicate's hands. Summoning the American to Marseille instead of anywhere else was, of course, to prevent any accidental exposure of our headquarters. While writing only the location and time on the note was a display of confidence, writing down our safehouse in Greenwich would have been nothing short of idiotic. My operatives began monitoring W closely from the moment he arrived in Marseille. What he rode, where he went, what he did, who he met—everything. Naturally, the US Arcane Security Agency would be monitoring my operatives in return. The agents assigned to the field in Marseille today were scheduled to lay low and remain under voluntary house arrest for the time being. Since I wasn't a reckless leader who ignored the opinions of my subordinates, I had naturally asked for volunteers beforehand and only deployed those who agreed. Once he stepped inside the casino, he was effectively cut off from external observation. We had already thoroughly searched him to ensure he wasn't carrying any hidden cameras or devices, so there was nothing left to worry about. The operatives inside the casino had been briefed on W's appearance beforehand, and my subordinates naturally separated Matthew W. Lewis's path from the regular casino patrons, guiding him toward me. I was watching the American's movements in real-time through the CCTV feed. The corridor leading to the VIP room, and the grand central hall branching out in six directions. Every corner of this place reminded me of the time I had driven a sharp dagger into the materialist mage and the traitors of Marseille. The only difference this time was that I was the host waiting for the guest. I never knew a reversal of roles could be this exhilarating. I wondered how much the hand the Americans held would benefit me. On the day Stalin and his lackeys were brought to their knees, when Red Square was engulfed in hellfire, and the roof of the Kremlin melted into a gooey mess under the heat of nuclear fusion... how much American assistance would be added to my arsenal? I was dying of curiosity. No, let's be a bit more honest. Sigh. I was practically trembling with excitement.